


Satoshi's Moving Castle

by petaldancing



Category: Hyouka & Kotenbu Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petaldancing/pseuds/petaldancing
Summary: Before anything else, Mayaka feels the wind touch her cheeks, and a gloved hand on her shoulder.—Howl's Moving Castle AU
Relationships: Fukube Satoshi/Ibara Mayaka
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Satoshi's Moving Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hyouka discord's spring 2020 event!
> 
> Day 4 prompt: Ghibli
> 
> This idea has also been floating in my head for awhile, so I'm glad I could write it out at last!

Before anything else, Mayaka feels the wind touch her cheeks, and a gloved hand on her shoulder. 

Only seconds ago, she’d been caught in a staredown with a guardsman who didn’t want to leave her alone. What began as a frail attempt at chatting her up morphed into distasteful insistence on escorting her home. Just before she could step on his foot, she felt a familiar presence descend to her side and offer an open hand. Mayaka had taken that hand, not because she knew who it was, but because it felt like it was a question that didn't need to be asked.

Not one breath later, and she's overlooking the town bathed in sunset hues. It would make for a lovely painting, if she could commit the scene to memory.

Belatedly, Mayaka realises that she is now floating over the town square, above the lowered heads of the residents going about their evening duties, and nearly loses her left shoe when her foot goes slack. Is this magic? 

She finally glances to the culprit, one hand still resting on her shoulder, carrying her through the crests of wind with ease. “What’s happening? Put me down!” she shouts into their ear, but knows better than to struggle, lest she suffer an untimely fall. 

The person leans their head away just slightly, chuckling with amusement. Underneath the brim of the black top hat he’s wearing, Mayaka can see the sliver of a smile. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Mayaka.” 

When he speaks, she instantly recognises that voice and everything almost makes sense. With the hand that isn’t clutching onto his billowing cloak, she snatches the hat off the man.

“Satoshi?!”

* * *

When the soles of Mayaka’s Sunday shoes finally touch the floor again, it is on the cluttered balcony of her atelier. Satoshi had taken great delight in showing off the magic he’s mastered in the last six years, hopping them from roof to roof, over the market and past the merchant's district, to bring her back here. 

The last time he’d taken her home, it'd been to her old countryside cottage on an unnamed road. They were eighteen then, and walked the old-fashioned way. 

“Will you come in for some tea?” she asks this instead of thanking him. To thank him right now would end the conversation prematurely, wouldn’t it? 

“Not today, Mayaka. I can’t stay for long. I need to get back.” Satoshi, show-off that he is, balances on the railing of her balcony. Not that there’s much standing space left, what with the easels, potted plants and unopened paint buckets piled out here that she couldn’t fit into her studio. 

“Get back to where?” Mayaka cranes her neck to look at him, trying to memorise every changed line on his face as the last light of sun fades in the horizon. It’s been years since she’s seen him, since he walked her home that final night and told her he’d been leaving. For what, and for how long, he never said. Now, six years later, in a place miles and miles away from their childhood, Mayaka finally has her answer. 

But some things never change. Just like that night, Satoshi smiles to avoid the question. 

“I’ll tell you someday. Till then, take care and continue working on your art. I want to see them printed from here to the Eastern Kingdoms and back!” He throws his cloak out behind them in a flourish before leaping off her balcony and back up in the air. 

“You said ‘not today’. So, that means you’ll be back another day, won’t you?” Mayaka leans out from the balcony, hand cupping her mouth. “I’m going to hold you to it, Satoshi!” 

All she gets is a tip of a hat in reply, but Mayaka continues watching his figure cruise through the air until she can no longer make him out from between the chimneys and buildings. 

* * *

When Mayaka closes the shutters of the balcony behind her, she is ready to collapse and turn over the events of the last hour. As inviting as it would be, she swerves away from her favourite sitting chair and parks herself at the workbench on the other side of the tiny studio. She empties her purse over the counter, and out falls the new inkwell and nib pen she’d gotten from the stationer that afternoon. The only reason she’d gone out today was to get these. She’s supposed to submit an illustration to the papers for a story they’re printing the day after tomorrow, so she needs to get this done by tonight, before her candle burns down. 

Just as she's beginning to understand the temperament of the new pen, she's interrupted mid-stroke by a series of impatient knocks on her front door. Who would make a call to her at this hour?

Mayaka opens the door with a measure of carefulness, and stifles a yell when the visitor’s manicured hand reaches through the crack between the door and the wall to push themselves in. 

Dressed in ornate white robes and red ribbons twirled in her hair, Ayako the witch barges into Mayaka’s studio unannounced for the second time that week.

“Good evening, Miss Mayaka. Have you given any thought to my proposition?” Ayako drawls, settling comfortably into Mayaka’s armchair without hesitation. 

Mayaka curls her hands into fists at her sides. “I haven’t because I’m not interested.” 

Upon hearing this, the witch narrows her eyes. She must be feeling sore. After all, it doesn't look like she's used to receiving rejections, let alone two in the span of a few days. 

“How many times must I spell it out for you? Together, you and I could create magical art that could surpass everyone else’s. We'd be renowned and never have to worry for meals on the table for the rest of our lives. Don't you see what I'm offering?”

Mayaka knows she won't be able to get Ayako to leave until the witch tires and gives up. Instead of wasting what little energy she still has, she returns to her bench and resumes work on the illustration for the morning paper. The piece she's drawing now will give her barely enough to cover for half a week's worth of expenses. Still, she wants to take ownership of what she can do now, at this moment, even if it may not be at the calibre she wishes it was, even if it may not warrant more than a side glance when one flips through the papers. She still hasn't figured out why Ayako has an interest in her mediocre inkwork, but she won't resort to magic to make it better.

The heel of Ayako's boot clicks against the hardwood floor as she taps her foot and sighs. "You have potential, Mayaka. Work with me, and we could even create work that could rival that of Anjou."

Anjou. The artist whose intricate linework moved Mayaka to pursue this unforgiving path. To pack up her bags and leave the countryside and start from scratch by herself, until she could afford her own small atelier in the cheapest part of town. Anjou is the kind of artist Mayaka hopes she'll be one day, the kind whose art not only conveys skill and technique, but emotion and pain too. In contrast, when she looks at her own work in front of her, all she can see is uneven lines and empty expression. 

“Not even close.” The whisper is meant for herself, but Ayako catches it and rises from the armchair, furious.

“How dare you be so insolent to me? Who do you think I am?” 

Mayaka puts her pen down and looks over her shoulder, unbothered. “I was talking about myself,” she says, but doesn’t stop there. “Not that it really matters, because it applies to you too. You should know that you can’t create masterpieces by cheap imitation. It’s a fool’s errand to try.” 

Ayako’s face darkens. “Cheap imitation? That’s it, you ungrateful girl. If you’re not going to draw for me, you’re not going to draw at all.”

She snaps her fingers, and a small flame flickers over her thumb. 

Mayaka straightens her back and lets loose a loud swear as Ayako raises her hand above her head before snapping her fingers and firing the spell across the room. 

Mayaka leaps off her highstool at a sharp angle, but the projectile follows her, swerving in a clean arc and dancing underneath her feet. Small flames encircle her, the heat licking at her ankles. When Mayaka throws her hands down to try and fan the flames away, the magic embers curl over her fingers in rings of blue and gold, and the skin of her hands starts to burn. She bites down on her lip, refusing to give the witch the pleasure of hearing her panic and scream. But the heat is no longer near her feet, it’s on her arms, fierce at her wrists and searing into every single joint of her hands. The sensation makes her faint.

As Mayaka falls down to the floor and her eyes go heavy, the last thing she sees is the ripple of white robes and the loud, furious slam of the front door.

* * *

It’s hot. It’s unbearably hot. Why is it so hot?

Mayaka snaps her eyes open, gasping for air. She calms her breaths when she realises the heat is just the morning sunlight shining through the window and on her face. Rubbing her forehead, she slowly sits up and tries to reassemble what happened. She turns over her hands and arms, hurriedly checking for burn marks, but they remain bare, save for the ink smears that were already there. 

As she picks herself up and scans the atelier for anything that seems out of place, her gaze lands on her workbench and the half-finished illustration. It’s untouched, just like she left it. Mayaka tries not to think too much about yesterday and instead refocuses on what needs to get done.

“Just great, now I need to work on this the whole day,” she mutters.

She dips the pen into the inkwell and decides to work on the flowers on the top right of the page first. There’s a small ache in her hand, but she ignores it and presses the pen down.

At that instant, a sharp pain crackles through her hand and the paper in front of her bursts into angry flames.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she hisses, dropping the pen onto the carpet under the bench. It takes a few seconds for the ache to subside, and by that time, the paper containing her drawing has been completely incinerated, leaving nothing behind, not even the smell of burnt paper. 

Mayaka grits her teeth, bending down to pick up her pen and getting back up to rip out a brand new sheet of paper from the stack on the workbench. If this is Ayako’s doing, it’s just a small incantation. It’ll go away in no time. But no matter how many times she brings her pen to the paper, the same thing happens over and over again. 

She burns through five more rolls of parchment before admitting that it’s not a simple incantation, but a serious curse. 

* * *

Mayaka packs her bag in a hurry, not forgetting to include her trusty pens and a bottle of ink. Only after water all her plants does she lock up her studio and venture into town. She doesn’t know where Ayako’s residence is, or if the witch even lives in this town, but she’ll track her down and… and… 

She comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of the town square. 

What will she do if she tracks Ayako down? Agree to a partnership and let the witch meddle with her illustrations using magic? Force Ayako to undo her nasty curse? 

Mayaka stares at her empty hands, trembling slightly. What choice does she have now? If she doesn’t get rid of this, she won’t be able to draw again. The thought is strange and ugly and frightening. She shuts her eyes and clutches her hands to her heart. It’s thumping loudly in her chest. 

“Stay calm. You’ve got to stay calm.” She tells herself as she searches for distractions, like the smell of the freshly baked bread from the corner bakery, the sound of the water fountain and the aimless chatter around her. 

“ _Read all about it! Mysterious wizard in town! Great wizard of the East unmasked!_ ” It’s the voice of the paperboy. 

“Did you see the huge behemoth on the outskirts of town?” a woman asks her friend as they pass through the square.

“I heard it belongs to the wandering wizard. You know, the one who’s supposed to be really powerful? I heard he’s tall and quiet.”

“Are you sure? Those who’ve met him say he’s talkative, bit’ on the small side.” 

_Satoshi._

Mayaka raises her head to the towers and chimneys surrounding the square. She can still remember which way he went off yesterday evening, and starts running in that direction, through winding cobbleways, up steep streets, past familiar lanes and unfamiliar alleys, nearly tripping, nearly losing her way. The glaring noontime sun is the first thing that greets her when she pushes past the town’s gates, into the wide open meadows. 

She catches her breath, and catches herself. 

Back then, when Satoshi first left, Mayaka had told herself she would never, ever, give chase after him. That she would pour everything that remained of her heart into her work, into the calluses on her hands and the ink stains on her fingers. 

Now, here she is. Hands ridden with calluses, fingers stained black and blue. Heart, empty. 

And in the distance, there it was.

Satoshi’s moving castle. 

**end**

* * *

“Satoshi’s in his room, isn’t he?” 

“Yes.”

“Then who did you just let into the castle?” 

“A friend.” 

Mayaka hears this hushed conversation play out over her head as she ascends up the staircase. The front door that unlocked for her had led her into what appeared to be a cellar. She followed the light of the staircase out of the cellar into what appeared to be the main living room of the peculiar house. 

The first thing she sees is rows and rows of books piled from floor to ceiling. Some of them are in old-looking shelves, but a majority of them are stacked in messy piles across the floor. On one side of the wide room is a single table with a cactus plant perched in the center. Behind that is a hearth and fireplace, and a hunched figure sitting on a chair. 

“Excuse me, I’m here to look for the wizard.” Mayaka inches towards the person, trying to sound like she knows what she’s doing. 

When he turns to her, the first thing she notices is his green eyes. Those aren’t the eyes of a normal person.

“Not in,” the man mumbles. 

Mayaka frowns at this outright lie and finds more courage to speak. “I heard you. I know Satoshi’s here. And where’s that other person you were talking to?”

The man’s nonchalant expression does not shift.

“Over here!” comes the second voice, distinctly sweeter and lighter in tone. 

Mayaka leans over, and her jaw drops when she sees that it’s coming from the purple flame burning in the fireplace. The flame in question has eyes, and a mouth.

“I’m Eru! This person is Houtarou,” it says by way of introduction. 

“A flame spirit has more decorum than a human,” Mayaka remarks, folding her arms. 

Houtarou’s eyebrows are covered by his unruly hair, but she notices that he’s raised one of them. “Funny, coming from someone who’s trespassing.”

“Now, Houtarou. I can sense that she’s a dear friend. She has a good heart.” 

Mayaka squares her shoulders and tries to live up to the generous description. “Look, I didn’t come here to bother you. I’m just here to speak to Satoshi. I know who he is and I need his help.” 

“What sort of help?” Eru asks. 

Mayaka is still trying to get used to holding a conversation with living fire. It takes her a few moments to snap out of her daze. “I’ve been cursed by a witch and I need an equally powerful wizard to break the curse,” she explains as she gestures with her hands.

“Oh, then--” 

Houtarou raises a hand to stop the flame spirit mid-sentence.

“He can’t help you,” he says without elaboration. 

Mayaka bites down on her lip and steps up to him. In response, Houtarou gets up from the chair he’d been sitting on, black cape falling from his shoulders down to cover his boots. He’s tall and she comes up to just below his chin, but Mayaka does not let that stop her from locking eyes with him.  
  
“Why not?” 

Houtarou doesn’t say a word. Before Mayaka can start a fight, a familiar voice interjects.

“Because I’m not the real wizard.” 

Satoshi appears from a door at the far end of the room, worry apparent on his face. 

“But if it’s not you, then who is it?” Mayaka asks with exasperation. 

There is a sadness in Satoshi’s smile when he nods at her, as if to tell her that she already knows the answer. Mayaka’s eyes drift back down to the fireplace, to Eru, who looks up at her with flickering curiosity, nudging flames in the direction of the tall, quiet man towering over her.

Mayaka glares at those irritating, green eyes. 

“ _YOU?!_ ”


End file.
